


Perks

by CollingwoodGirl



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Body swap challenge, Bodyswap, Drabble, F/M, Frustrated Jack, Happy Ending, Implied Hand Job, LITERALLY, MFMM Year of Tropes, Masturbation, No Offense to Rhesus Monkeys, Phryne Has the Self Control of a Rhesus Monkey, Premature Ejaculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 04:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10734579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/pseuds/CollingwoodGirl
Summary: I should begin with an apology... to Phryne. I'm sure she might have more control than I'm giving her credit for. (Maybe? Possibly? OK, probably not.) Phryne is overwhelmed with the new sensations she is experiencing in Jack's body. The tags pretty much say it all.





	Perks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RakishAngle (afterdinnerminx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdinnerminx/gifts).



> My brain latched on to this idea and would not let go and, with the end of April rapidly approaching, it simply forced it's way out - despite about a dozen other projects that need completing first. I hope you enjoy! XOXO, CG
> 
> (And happy belated, minx. MWAH!)

She finds herself utterly lost in the sensation. Again. 

A hot blinding ball of electricity originating deep in the belly, traversing from nerve to nerve like a bolt of lightning. Were it not for the unsettling clench of her jaw - setting off the scrape of molar against molar, grounding her to the moment - she might not have realized that rather than forging a single path from sky to earth, the energy exploded through all her extremities in a five-pointed star.

“Supernova,” she mumbles in a voice thick and rough with the intensity of her release. Despite not spending another moment in an observatory, she feels she understands the magnitude of the phenomenon better than she possibly could have yesterday. She already can't wait to know it again - so different from her own body's orgasms.

“Goddammit, Phryne!” Jack hitches himself up on an elbow, dislodging his sweaty companion from his aching chest, and pushes the fringe of damp sooty hair out of his eyes.

He’s annoyed with her but can’t help wincing in empathy as he watches her wrap a large hand around her softening cock, a hiss on her lips.

“You promised you would try,” he pouts, unnerved further by the higher pitch of his voice and how much better it's suited to pouting than he is accustomed to.

It was amusing at first, watching her reactions as she experienced what he usually felt when she wrapped her warm hands, and lips, and legs around him. They had spent hours in bed since the flagons of smoking emerald green liquid had been drunk. But regardless of Phryne’s enthusiasm for the novelty of the situation – or possibly, because of it – Jack’s needs were as yet sorely unmet.

Phryne wraps a muscled arm around his waist and pulls him tightly to her – his back to her chest – so she can nestle herself into the cosy-warm pillow of his arse. “It’s just that I… I mean… you. You feel so good. I don’t know how you control yourself.”

He barks a laugh. “Is that supposed to be a compliment? Because you just called _yourself_ irresistible, Phryne.”

She nuzzles his ear with her mouth in amends, surprised when he doesn’t respond – until she remembers herself and presses a kiss to a particular favorite spot along his throat. A whinging puff of breath vibrates the air around him.

“More like, commending your impressive stores of self-restraint,” she replies. "It is quite obviously for my benefit."

“I’d prefer you show your regard by striving to last longer than five minutes.”

For a brief moment, she wonders if the oxford had been on the other foot – the proper foot, as it were – how he might have taken such an admonishment. But while she had plenty to say on a multitude of other issues, his stamina had never been one them. Clearly a case of mind over matter, then.

“I’m so sorry, darling. I did try, honestly.” The earnestness of her apology is lost, somewhat, in the yawn that howls around it. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“That’s what you said before the last three attempts,” he grumbles, “It’s not a question of _if_ you’ll come, but _when_. I told you, you have to squeeze hard.”

“Like this?” she teases, fitting her fingers around the stiff peaks of his breasts.

He moans – a sound of utter desperation. He isn’t surprised that she knows exactly how to touch her body like this but he had not expected to crave the roughness of his fingertips. “Not fair, Phryne.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.”

Jack hears the slight slur in her diction, knows it well. She is only moments from the deep slumber that only blesses the truly sated, knows she cannot make good on her teasing any time soon.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meanwhile? Lay here and wait for you to recover, wound up tighter than a cheap pocket watch?”

No riposte comes – Phryne is already asleep. He’s certain that he doesn’t snore near that loudly when he’s occupying his own body.

 

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

 

She dreams, of nothing and everything – a velvet fog that leaves lush impressions of delight, like sticky fingerprints, all over her psyche. There is a smile on her lips when she wakes – a crooked half-smile she would recognize as equally familiar as precious. Her ears, slowly attuning to her surroundings, drown in the buzzing sound of a bee swarm. It has the Pavlovian effect of forcing her hand down between her legs even before she has time to register the way Jack is panting from the other side of the bed.

He comes at long last with a held breath and strained expression, and rides out his aftershocks with both hands wrapped about the device like it's an unruly steed. 

“Changed your mind about the dangers of mixing electricity and pleasure, then, Inspector?”

Even with months of practice in front of a mirror, he could never manage a grin so wicked as the one she conjures on his mouth. But if the reaction of her body to such an expression is to be believed, it would be time well spent.

He sets the Percussor aside, determinately unrepentant - despite the blush heating the apples of his cheeks. It had probably been years since they had coloured with something besides rouge and lust.

“I checked the wiring before using it,” he defends, clearing his throat uncomfortably in a very Jack-like manner, while his hips shift in circles relishing the lingering sparks that tingle between his lips. “But I won't deny its effectiveness.”

“Reliability is a fine quality in both man and machine,” she agrees, edging closer to settle next to where he is spread against the dark satin sheets. The rapid cadence of her words catches on the wetness of her mouth and he groans in response.

Phryne had long been aware of her beauty – it had served her well from an early age – and had often indulged in the reflections of her dressing mirror to enflame the throes of passion. But in all her wanton years, she had never experienced anything as honest as this.

“I’m surprised you didn’t use your hands,” she whispers throatily, sweeping a calloused finger up the inside of her thigh to graze teasingly at her testicles. “I’ve always found them to be very reliable.”

With jealous eyes, he watches her trace and tease her manhood with long, thick fingers. “The angle was all wrong.”

She trails her hand over his leg, across his hip, and up his abdomen, leaving gooseflesh in her wake. Determined to give him his due, she applies her mouth to his right breast until his fingers are fisting in the curls of her hair and pulling her up for a kiss.

“Easily remedied, I should think,” she breathes into his mouth. “After all, we both know how I like to be touched.” Stroking a fingertip against his sensitized clitoris, she relishes his moan and the greed with which he presses forward. “I think you’ll find that after liberating your first orgasm, your body is more than ready to come again.”

“One of the perks of being Phryne Fisher?” he asks cheekily.

“Absolutely,” she assures him with a voice as confident as her fingers. “Not to mention, having a butler with a penchant for magic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Science Shout Out to astronomers Walter Baade and Fritz Zwicky, who coined the word "supernova" in 1931.


End file.
